Chapter Eight
~Cammie Morgan~
November 20, 2011
Everything was…cold. There was still a black bag covering my head. My legs felt numb from being tied up for two days in the back of the van.
Sometimes he would leave me here alone. Of course, I was locked up in a small, dark room. Sometimes I could hear voices. I could hear Luther, but I could hear other voices too. They were gruff and vile with every word the muttered.
At times I would eavesdrop. Sometimes they would talk about me.
They would offer to violate me…sometimes he would comply, other times he would refuse calmly, sometimes I could hear gunshots.
But this place was new…it was familiar…but I don't recall being here in the past seven years.
I felt around with my snarled hands to be met with cold, cement floor.
A shiver went down my spine as another gust of traveled into the secured room.
There were probably cracks in the walls.
I tried to stand to search for those cracks, but ever since my attempted escape two however many days ago, I've been abused to the point where I can no longer walk.
And even then, I could barely walk.
I sat in silence, my breathing becoming shallow. I felt hot, but the cold wind blew my hair to the side, down my neck, trailing goosebumps on my skin through the light shirt and sweat pants.
I thought of what I usually thought of when I was alone-which was often enough-Zach.
I often thought about what he could be doing right at this moment.
When I was escaping towards the Safeway, I caught a glimpse of the newspaper rack. The photographic memory that I acquired during my years of training at the Federal Bureau allowed me to catch a glimpse of the date.
November.
It's almost Thanksgiving, baby.
I think of my hansome, sexy, husband sitting at our dinning room table with a seven year old MC. I was there as well. There was the Thanksgiving essentials: turkey, gravy, potatoes, corn, cranberry sauce, etc.
My mouth started to water at the memory of such foods.
But then I disappeared from the table.
Zach was there with MC, all of the food burnt to a crisp because, face it babe, you can't cook.
But then a woman appeared.
She was smiling lovingly at you, baby. MC held her hand and said, "Thank you, Mama."
The delicious food reappeared and the three of you laughed and ate together.
Saying Grace as a family.
I see you mutter an "I love you," to the woman at your side and she offers the same.
You bring her hand up to kiss it and I see a glistening ring on her left hand.
Tears stream down my face. The wind blows harder, making my wet face flush.
My empty stomach churns and I bend over to throw up.
When I'm done I sob louder.
I can't get through this without you, baby. I think to myself.
But those images were too vivid. Too real.
Flashbacks of Luther in the eighth grade flood through my mind.
The pictures of me in his locker.
Luther rounding every corner I would turn.
Luther trying to drag me into a janitor's closet…
That day in seventh grade when he wanted to ditch school with me…my refusal and the fist that connected with my forehead, making my head fall back onto a mailbox…then waking up to Zach.
In ninth grade was the final straw.
He had cornered me in the bathroom and through me against the mirror, cracking it against my head. My head bled as he threw me to the ground.
I blacked out at that point, but woke up to Zach in the hospital.
You were always my guardian. You were always there.
I filed a restraining order. Luther was expelled and sent to a boarding school.
I never saw him again…until December of 2004.
My weeps covered the silence again as I refused the memory.
I had come to terms with myself already. I would never return to Boston, Illinois. I would never see my husband or MC again. We would never grow old together. We would never get to retire together or save money to travel Europe. I would never see MC grow up, hear her first words, see her take her first steps, take her on her first day of school, talk to her about what kinds of friends she should look for, what kind of boy was worthy of her, see her walk down an aisle on her father's arm, eventually have grandchildren…
Never.
.
.
.
Muffled cries came from the other side of the door. Voices talked in hushed tones, but they weren't cruel or vile.
It certainly wasn't Luther.
One was deep and…soothingly familiar.
The other was high pitched and filled with remorse.
"H-Help!" I attempted to yell but it came out hoarse and covered by the roaring winds.
"He-h-h-HEL-h-h-help!" I cried but I knew they couldn't hear.
I tried lifting my arms and legs just high enough and letting them fall, hoping to make enough noise to alert who ever it was.
"What was that?" what I assumed was a small child asked.
"Probably just mice…I remember your mom acting fearless when we saw mice in here. But you could tell how terrified she really was," a struggled laugh came through the door and I immediately recognized it.
Zach?
"Zach?" I yelled but again it was like a whisper. I flailed my limp arms and legs around. "Z-ZACH!"
I heard a scream and that laugh.
Your laugh, baby.
I struggled with all of my might, tears streaming faster in desperation.
You're so close…
"Let's get you home…" you say…
"N-N-NO!" I cry and bang my bundled fists against the cement wall of the basement I was locked up in.
"HURRY DADDY! It's SCARY! FASTER DADDY! WHY ARE YOU WALKING SO SLOW!"
MC..
Is that MC?
My baby?
Then I realize…
Those are the first words I've ever heard her say.
It makes want to laugh and cry at the same time.
A door slammed close and it felt like my heart shattered into bits and pieces.
They were so close…my family…
That's when I realized I couldn't give up. They were all I had and after seven years…seven fucking years…of not hearing his voice, and missing her first words, I needed them more than I ever did before.
They seem so far away now…
I thought but remembered where I was.
Maybe not so far away…
A.N. Sorry for the shortness of this chapter but I just wanted to get this out there.
So, who wants to slap Zach? Who's dying with the irony of it all?
They were so close, yet so far.
Oh goodness.
Tell me your thoughts!
~Akira